


Lucky Ones

by thechemicalgirl



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Injuries, Modern AU, Pining, they are like 25 here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 08:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19128235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechemicalgirl/pseuds/thechemicalgirl
Summary: Richie Tozier is an amateur writer from Paris, currently lacking both inspiration and happiness.He decides to travel to a desolated area by the sea to start working on a new novel, but as he unexpectedly meets a man who always looks beaten-up and can't seem to trust anyone, he gains more than he could've expected.





	Lucky Ones

Paris, supposedly the city of love, inspiration, a true blessing for artists of all kind. Perhaps it seemed like that for people who came here to rest from their responsibilities for a few days, for those who wanted to experience the charm of atmospherical narrow lanes, admire the monuments and do other sentimental rubbish. In Richie's opinion no person who was actually born here or lived there for more than a year would agree. For him Paris was overprized, smelled of fumes mixed with suffocating perfume and definitely wasn't a source of any inspiration, and he was an artist for God's sake. 

Shrugging as the first raindrops started falling down on the pavement, he entered his favourite café, relieved when he noticed that it was empty except for two girls sitting on high stools and chatting quietly. Richie wasn't the one for spending the entire day there and wasting his time looking out of the window, but their cappucino was a lifesaver. Bill recommended this place to him a while back and even though it didn't help with his writer's block at all, the coffee was worth coming back to.

He took a place located the farthest from the counter and pulled his devastated notepad out of the backpack. Every entry had a small date scribbled above it, and the fact that the last one was written more than a month ago hit him suddenly, setting an uneasy feeling in his guts. It wouldn't be that bad if he actually had any ideas - he could write them down, save for later, when he feels like working on something new again. But he couldn't come up with a single outline of a plot, and the lack of money was getting more obvious than ever. He knew Bill noticed, he kept inviting him for lunch at least two times a week and sometimes showed up at his place unannounced, carrying a bag full of groceries, which made Richie feel part grateful and part annoyed. He would never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but above all of that, he was simply ashamed. He could almost hear his father's furious voice echoing in his head: 'You will never make money of that bullshit! Better get a decent job or you will find yourself on the street one day, and don't try to come back to my house then, you useless cunt!' 

Maybe the old man was right after all. Here, in Paris, it was especially hard to stand out in the writing industry and only a few people had the chance to publish their works at a young age. Richie wasn't even twenty-two when he had managed to sell more than two thousand copies of his first novel, but since that moderate success he hasn't written anything other than some short stories for local magazines. Staring at the blank page of his notepad, he could only think of one reasonable solution - leave this damned city as soon as possible.

***

'W-w-where are you g-going to go though? I c-could help you p-pay for the t-t-travel.'

Richie shook his head firmly, but he felt a sudden wave of appreciation for Bill. He was naturally the first person that Richie told about his plans, always the sensible one, who kept him from doing most of the ridiculous things that crossed his mind. Not this time, it seemed. 

'Don't bother, I have some savings, and it's not like I am travelling to the Amazon Jungle or something' Richie grinned. 'I thought about Nice, I found a cheap room to rent for a few days... It's more on the suburbs to be honest. But I've heard there is some desolated beach there and you can even swim in the sea. Guess that's enough for a broke artist' he muttered, more to himself. The truth was, the place he described was the only one he could afford, but the lady who owned it assured him that the area was really quiet and green, which was what he aimed for. Perfect conditions to regain his inspiration.

'That's g-great. You know if you n-n-need something, you can a-always t-t-talk to me, r-right?' 

'Sure thing, I will call you as soon as I get there, which should be... tomorrow afternoon, I think. The real question is, will you survive that few days when I'm gone? Oh Bill, I bet I will find you losing your mind with longing for me once I come back' he said seriously, and Bill snorted with amusement.

'Don't be an i-idiot, R-r-richie. Come here.'

Bill stepped closer and they embraced for a while, until Richie started laughing, low and muffled by the other man's shoulder. He drew back and adjusted the glasses sliding down his nose. 

'You know what? The longer I think about this whole trip, the more I realise how absurd it is. Most people come to Paris to create, and I am leaving it to do the same thing.' 

'That's b-because you are e-e-extraordinary' Bill shrugged, bending to tie his shoelace. Richie wasn't sure if it was supposed to be taken as a sarcastic remark, or a compliment, but he would rather take it as the latter. Modesty wasn't one of his many assets, sue him. Confidence, on the other hand, definitely was.  
Bill gave him one last half smile before leaving, and Richie let out a long sigh when the door closed behind him. There he was, all by himself, without his stuttering voice of caution. He started laughing again at the thought, until his neighbour knocked furiously on the wall, in a manner that could only mean 'shut the fuck up, freak!'.

'Let me be happy!' he screamed, making sure everyone in the old tenement house heard him. 'I will be gone soon anyway!' 

'Can't wait!' an angry voice of a young woman answered, but Richie only rubbed his eyes tiredly and muttered:  
'Me too sweetie, me too' under his breath. 

***

Nice wasn't what Richie expected. Not in a bad way - it was much less of a tourist spot and much more like the places he used to travel to as a child, giving out a cosy vibe that he immediately picked up on. He decided to go and get the keys to his rented room first, despite his curiosity that was drawing him in the direction of the forest. He could swear he felt the sea breeze and a faint scent of salt in the air already, even though the shore was about two miles from where he was staying. 

'Excuse me! Are you the man who was supposed to arrive around eleven?' 

Richie turned around and noticed a woman, about sixty years old, dressed in a yellow sundress. She eyed his backpack and gestured for him to come closer. 

'The guesthouse is just around the corner, if you could just follow me, dear.' 

'Of course! Richard Tozier, that's me,' he muttered, extending a hand politely. 'Forgive me for arriving this early, I thought the train would be delayed as usual. I can just walk around for a while and come back on time.'

The lady shook his hand surprisingly firmly, the skin of her palm calloused and rough, probably from years of working in the sun. She smiled for the first time and her tanned face suddenly looked ten years younger, with grey eyes narrowing playfully and white teeth on display.

'Come on! Everything in your room is ready, it's not like I have guests around here often. And my name is Linda. How long will you be staying?'

Richie returned the smile almost unconciously, feeling that they will definitely get along. 

'Honestly I am not sure yet, this whole trip was very spontaneous. I was thinking about a week? You know I come from Paris, there aren't many opportunities to enjoy nature and loneliness there.' 

They've reached the small wooden guesthouse and Linda handed him the key with a number 2 engraved on it. She tilted her head up slightly, chin pointing to one of the balconies. They were all only about eight feet above the ground, and Richie guessed that there could be four rooms at most. 

'Are there any guests here at the moment?' 

'As I said, not many people come to that part of Nice, they prefer the popular beaches. This one...' she pointed to the balcony again '...is your room. You are the only person staying here right now, hopefully you don't get scared at night. If you do, I live just across this street with my husband.' 

'I won't bother you,' he assured, feeling like the decision to get out of Paris was one of the best he has made in a while. 'See you around, right? I will try to tell you for how long I am staying soon.'

'No rush, my dear.' 

They exchanged smiles one last time and Linda turned to leave, the bottom of her sundress spinning as she did. Richie watched her walk away gracefully for a while, and actually regreted he didn't have a grandma or at least some older neighbour, someone that would be similar to her. 

His room turned out to be simple, walls painted beige, small bathroom with a shower and a bed in the middle that looked divinely comfortable. There wasn't any TV here, and he doubted there was internet access, but that didn't bother him at all. He knew he should avoid all distractions and focus on writing.  
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled his phone out, dialing Bill's number. He waited for a whole minute, but when seven signals passed and nobody answered, he decided to leave a message instead, informing he had arrived in Nice earlier than expected. He wondered what Bill was busy with though; he usually picked up right away, especially when it was one of his friends calling.

Richie threw his suitcase under the bed carelessly. He could unpack in the evening or even the next day, for now he only wanted to go and see the beach that Linda told him about when he was booking his room there. He has always loved swimming, but he's actually only spent holidays by the sea twice in his entire life - the first time he could barely remember, he was six and his mum was still alive, long before his father started drinking. The second time he went with Bill and Stan, a Jewish guy who attended their art class in college. They were all eighteen and that was probably the best time Richie has ever had, going to sleep at dawn and trying fancy drinks instead of eating proper dinner. He knew this time it would all be different, he was on his own and supposed to work here, but the memories came back suddenly, making him snicker. He kind of wished Bill also travelled there, he would have loved the area and fresh air, but he had some office work to do in Paris. He sure didn't know what he was missing out on. 

Richie removed his backpack and stretched, hearing the bones crack after a long time without motion. He headed for the door, but turned back just before opening them. He almost forgot the most important thing; that fucking notepad, the reason why he came all the way here in the first place. He quickly fished it out and left the room, slamming the door shut. 

***

It appeared that the forest he saw earlier was the only way to get to the shore, but Richie wasn't complaining. He walked in between the trees, inhaling the fresh scent of salt and pines, so different from what Paris smelled like.  
After about ten minutes he started to hear the waves crashing on the sand and began running, feeling like an excited kid, wanting to get to the sea as soon as possible. He ran straight onto the beach, and stopped rapidly, trying to catch his breath. It was absolutely mesmerising, the water azure and clear, standing out from the white sand. Linda didn't lie when she said the place was desolated - there wasn't a single person out there and probably hasn't been for a long time, judging by the fact that everything was raw, no litter on the ground. Richie walked over to an old, wooden pier that reached far into the sea, took off his trainers and stepped into the water. It was cold, but not freezing. A big wave came suddenly; it reached his knees and knocked him off his feet, making him fall onto his back.  
He didn't even bother getting up, just burst out laughing, overtaken by pure happiness and freedom. 

Richie didn't know for how long he stayed like that, letting his clothes get completely soaked, but when he finally stood up he realised that maybe he wasn't right about being alone on the beach after all. There was someone sitting on the pier, about twenty feet away, watching him openly. Someone he hasn't noticed before, and now felt a bit embarassed that they witneesed him falling down and laughing like a madman. He quickly got out of the sea and walked over to where the person was sitting.

It turned out to be a man, about Richie's age, thin and sickly pale despite living in one of the most sunny regions of France. He looked like someone who's had a rough night, or a couple of them. The thing that hit Richie right when he looked at the guy's face, was the obvious dark purple bruise on his cheekbone - it contrasted his fair complexion dramatically, making him look fragile and highlighting his reddened eyes. 

'I was going to ask why you were staring, but like...' he hesitated for a moment, sitting down next to the man and vaguely gesturing towards his face '...are you okay?' 

'I could ask you right back, considering that a minute ago you were acting like you have escaped from a mental hospital' the guy shot back, his voice hoarse, and Richie laughed loudly, even though he was probably meant to be offended. 

'I didn't know someone was here watching me like a creep,' he said, raising his eyebrows. 'Anyway, what's your name?'

'Eddie.'

'I am Richie. Did you come here for holidays? I am staying in this guesthouse behind the forest, but there are no guests besides me. Heard it's not really a tourist spot.' 

'It's not. I live here and you are the first person I've met in... three months I think?' 

'Life must be fucking boring' Richie mumbled, and to his surprise Eddie smirked. His lips twisted a bit awkwardly, like even such a slight movement was causing him pain. 

'You are a bit of a trashmouth, aren't you? That's right though, I wouldn't exactly call this place eventful' he looked up and narrowed his eyes at the sun. When he spoke again, it was much more quiet, like he wasn't sure if he should say something else. 'But it's a good place to get away.' 

Richie watched him for a while, wondering why he was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt, despite the day being hot and humid. He also spotted a scar just above his eyebrow - it wasn't easy to notice, just a thin white line, but the cut that left it had to be deep. 

'See who's the one staring now.'  
Eddie turned to him, and for a moment they looked at each other silently. Richie decided to ask the question that was bothering him from the beggining, but he was almost certain he wouldn't get a proper answer. 

'What happened to your face Eds?' 

Eddie literally flinched at the nickname, and hissed in pain right after that, touching his cheekbone. The bruise was definitely fresh, ugly yellow rim forming around it.

'For fuck's sake, don't call me Eds! And it's none of your business really, but if you are so curious, I fell off my bike.' 

'Alright, alright, I won't ever call you Eds again,' Richie said, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. 'I beg for forgiveness. You must be an awful cyclist if you fell off your bike onto your pretty face, though. Be careful or you will end up in a hospital soon enough.' 

Eddie glared at him for a few seconds, but then barked out a laugh. His whole face brightened and he looked impossibly young, like he barely got out of school.

'Did anyone ever tell you how annoying you are?'

'Believe me, I've heard it more times than my actual name. You would totally get along with my best friend Bill, he complains about how stupid I am all the time.' 

'Didn't he come here with you?' Eddie tilted his head, like he was genuinely interested in what Richie was saying now. He kept pulling at the sleeve of his shirt mindlessly.

'No, I am all on my own. I actually travelled here because... well. I am a writer, but my writing sucks lately, so I thought that maybe getting away for a bit would help me find inspiration. As you said... It's a good place to get away.' 

Eddie nodded, biting his bottom lip, and Richie noticed that it was split, a little blood appearing and painting his mouth crimson. They sat there for a while, everything around them quiet, except for the waves constantly hitting the shore. 

'I like you, Trashmouth.' Eddie stated suddenly, standing up, like all this time he was trying to make up his mind about it. He looked at Richie one last time with a thoughful expression and started walking away, limping slightly. 

'Wait!' Richie scrambled to his feet quickly, catching up with him at the end of the pier. 'Will you be here tomorrow? We could hang out again.' 

Eddie remained silent until they reached the edge of the forest, visibly surprised. 

'You want to hang out with me?' 

'Well, sure. You seem like a nice person Eds.' Richie shrugged, running a hand through his wet curls. It was true; as wary as he was, the man turned out to be a great company. 

'Don't call me Eds, damn it. And fine, I come here almost every day anyway.'

They exchanged smiles before parting, Eddie his shy, twisted one and Richie a wide grin that showed all his teeth. Walking back to the guesthouse, he was now absolutely sure that visiting Nice was the best idea he could possibly come up with. 

***

Bill eventually called back around five in the afternoon, sounding weirdly excited for a day that he's supposedly spent in the office. Even his stuttering was less prominent than usual, and Richie could easily imagine him walking around with his phone restlessly.

'Why are you so hyped Billy? I have a lot to tell you, but you got me curious, not gonna lie.' 

'W-well, I know it sounds i-impossible... But I kind of w-w-went on a date today. And I t-think there's going to be  
a-a-another one.' 

'Fucking hell!' Richie screamed straight into his phone, not caring that he's probably just made Bill deaf on one ear.  
'Do I know her? What's her name?'

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and Richie asked 'Hello?' loudly, thinking that the call has been disconnected. 

'Stan.' Bill finally muttered, and now it was Richie's turn to remain quiet. To be honest, he would have never guessed that his best friend might go for men, but they have never discussed it either. It was an unspoken patency - Richie's only ever dated other guys, and Bill... well, he didn't date anyone. He was too focused on his problems with speech to approach anyone, and when someone made a move on him, he quickly withdrew. A sudden realisation hit Richie; he finally figured why the name seemed familiar. 

'Stan, as in Stan the Jewish painter? The one that travelled to Italy with us?' 

'Yes, t-that's him.' 

'How did you manage to find him? I swear, I've tried to contact him for over two years, I thought he has moved to America or something. Does he still have this uptight expression all the time?' 

Bill burst out laughing, and the tension was gone. 

'He w-works as an accountant in one of the c-c-companies we collaborate w-with. My b-boss told me to c-contact them and Stan came to t-t-talk to me...'

'...and immediately fell for your charm, am I right?' Richie finished, earning another laugh. He was glad that Bill has found someone patient, who would encourage him to be himself. He remembered Stan as a clever, sarcastic and kind guy, maybe a bit reserved, but not to the point where it would get in a way while meeting new people. 

'You are. H-he invited me for d-d-dinner and it went great, my s-stuttering didn't b-b-bother him at all.' 

'Well, he's known you before, he probably expected that. I am so proud of you though, finally!' 

'T-thanks Rich,' Bill said quietly, obviously relieved. 'Sorry I c-came out to you t-t-throught a phone call. We will talk  
a-about it when you come b-back, fine? How's Nice?' 

'Beautiful, but I literally only talked to two people since I've arrived. It's like, the least busy place I've ever seen.'

'W-wasn't that what you w-w-wanted?'

'It is, I just need some time. I've met this guy on the beach, his name's Eddie, I think I am going to hang out with him tomorrow.' 

He could hear Bill hum, urging him to continue. 

'Well, he told me he lives there, he is about our age and pretty damn mouthy. I think there is something wrong with him though' Richie hesitated. 'He had this huge bruise under his eye, some scars... He told me he fell off his bike, but you know. Total bullshit.'

'D-do you think s-someone hurt him?' Bill asked uncertainly, lowering his voice a bit. 

'I don't know, I hope not. Maybe I will find out more soon, he seemed to like me.' 

'J-just... Don't get too i-i-involved, I know h-how you feel about that s-stuff, Rich. You are t-there only for h-holidays.'

'I will be fine without you babysitting me Billy,' Richie assured him, managing to stay serious for about five seconds before cracking up loudly. 'Bye for now, I haven't eaten anything since the morning, I am about to pass out.' 

'T-take care of yourself. S-s-see you soon.' 

Bill hung up, and Richie threw his phone on the bed. He went out onto the balcony and climbed the wooden balustrade, swinging his long, thin legs over it. He sat there for a while, kicking the air, feeling happy and pleasantly tired. His thoughts floated in the direction of his notepad for a short moment; he shook them off, he had a lot of time to try and write something. It could wait, right now he honestly just wanted to enjoy his new-found peace. 

*** 

Richie woke up surrounded by soft sheets, sun shining directly onto his face through the window. He reached for his glasses and glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand - it was almost nine, meaning that he has slept for eleven hours. He couldn't remember the last time he got more than six hours of sleep, let alone that much. 

He gave himself ten more minutes before going to the tiny bathroom to get dressed. He tried to do it as quickly as possible, wondering if Eddie was already waiting on the beach. He kind of hoped he was.  
Running down the stairs, he passed the old kitchenette and briefly thought about making a sandwich for breakfast. The thing about Richie was that he was almost always hungry, but almost never had enough money to go out for dinner, or even do proper grocery shopping that would last for more than two days. That's when Bill stepped in usually, making sure he didn't starve, but now that he wasn't there, Richie could do without food for a little longer. He got used to functioning on an empty stomach anyway. 

The walk through the forest took him less time than the previous day; he caught himself quickening his pace once he started to hear the sound of waves rushing towards the shore. He saw Eddie the moment he got past the line of trees - he was dressed in the same black shirt, standing in the water with his back to Richie. His ratty shoes were lying on the sand far away from him, entirely covered in dirt. Richie wanted to call out and get his attention, but something in his posture stopped him from doing it. The man's back was hunched, shoulders tense and hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn jeans, like he wanted to become invisible. 

'Eds, hey,' he spoke gently, coming as close as he could without his trainers getting wet. 'Is everything okay?'

'Are you going to start every conversation with me asking if I'm okay?' Eddie replied after a moment, his voice calm, but head still turned into the other direction. 'Our little talks might turn boring pretty fast then.' 

'I thought I was the one who couldn't be serious for a second.' Richie muttered, rolling his eyes. He stepped even closer, until not only his shoes, but also trousers got completely dreneched. Finally, Eddie looked up at him, and Richie felt his breath hitch slightly when he saw his face. The bruise didn't heal at all, if anything it appeared much worse, claret fading into purple and sickening black on the edges. He also had some trails of clotted blood above his mouth, and it was hard not to flinch at the sight. 

'Doesn't your bike have pedals or something?' 

'What?' Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, visibly surprised.

'Well, yesterday you tried to convince me that you fell off your bike. Today you seem way more battered, so I assume that happened again... or you are trying to fool me Eds.' 

There was a long period of silence, when Richie stared at Eddie, waiting for him to admit that he was beaten up. At that point it was painfully obvious, the real question was: who did it? 

'Why do you think you have the right to know? We aren't friends, we have barely talked once!' Eddie snapped angrily, his cheeks flushing. His breathing became short and erratic, and he quickly reached into the pocket of his jeans, taking a small green aspirator out of it. He brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply. 

'I have asthma,' he explained, meeting Richie's questioning gaze. He sounded way calmer, but his hands were trembling as he put the aspirator away. 'My doctor told me it's not really asthma, just my lungs reacting to stressful situations too abruptly. I like to carry it with me though.' 

Richie nodded, unsure how to respond. It was one of that rare moments when he couldn't come up with anything to say. He eventually decided to settle for what he felt like Eddie was expecting to hear, because the atmosphere was getting uncomfortably charged. 

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, grimacing at the sound of his own wavering voice. 'I don't want to pressure you into telling me the truth, just... you can trust me. I am there whenever you need help' he finished gingerly.

'It's fine.' 

Eddie didn't look at him, didn't smile or offer a hand to shake, but it was enough. They both got out of the sea at the same time, almost like they've unconsciously made some kind of a pact. 

'Hey, would you like to walk back to the guesthouse with me? I forgot my notepad and I was supposed to try and work on something. I'll show you how poor artists spend holidays.' Richie offered, trying to roll the wet legs of his trousers up. 

'Sure, I haven't been over there in a while. Are you renting a room from Linda?' 

'That would be her! Do you know each other? Is she your grandma? Your front teeth are identical to hers, I swear, only she has a denture.' Richie said, making Eddie snort. They kept bickering all the way to the forest, their voices slowly fading in the distance. 

***

'Well, no wonder you keep coming to the beach, there is absolutely nothing to do in there.' Eddie mumbled after peeking into every corner of Richie's room. He was now lying spread out on the bed, leaving the other man to sit on the wooden floor with his notepad. 

'When I was looking for a place to stay I mainly thought about the costs, not if I would have a mini bar and a TV. No entrertainment means no distraction... I feel pretty disctracted by you in my bed though' Richie winked, watching Eddie blush hotly with satisfaction. 

'Stop it Trashmouth! Have you written anything since yesterday? Could I take a look at your notes?' 

'You have such high expectations Eds, remember I've only published one decent book, I am no Hemingway. You can read some of my older stuff if you want, but it's mostly just fragments and ideas.' 

'Cool' Eddie shrugged, yanking the notepad out of his hands. He opened it at a random page and fell quiet, focusing on the text. When he finished, he bit his lip and flicked through few other pages, eyes scanning them quickly. 

'You keep surprising me, honestly. With your personality I would say you could write comedy novels or stories for children maybe, but thriller? That's awesome.' 

Richie smiled at him widely from the floor, but deep inside he was truly touched by the words. He couldn't recall the last time someone directly told him that they liked his works, or even left a positive review on the internet. He didn't need readers to constantly stroke his ego, but being appreciated felt great. 

'Thank you for your proffesional opinion, mister...' 

'Kaspbrak.' Eddie said, realising that he's never told Richie his full name and vice versa.

'...exactly. Your surname sounds kind of Slavic, do you have family in West Europe?' 

'From what I know, my grandparents were both Polish, but I haven't actually ever met them or travelled there. What's your full name?' 

'Richard Tozier' Richie answered, making a face. 'Doesn't sound ordinary either, right? I used to want to change it as soon as I turn eighteen when I was a kid.' 

Eddie raised his eyebrows, but then suddenly burst out laughing, falling back onto the mattress.

'I could literally call you Dick!' he gasped out, making Richie sigh and mutter 'fuck you' under his breath. Eventually Eddie's laughter morphed into dry coughs and he had to use his aspirator. When his breathing normalized, he reached down to pat Richie's head.  
'You are a total Dick.' 

'I would be forever grateful if you didn't Eds. All of my aunts used to call me that when they visited, it holds a lot of traumatic memories. For example aunt Helen...' 

Richie was cut off by urgent buzzing of Eddie's phone in his jeans pocket. His friend looked nervous as he reached for it and glanced at the screen, eventually rejecting the call. 

'You can pick up, I won't feel offended.' Richie assured, growing a little concerned as he watched Eddie's face pale. 

'No, it's fine, but I have to go back home now.' 

'Can I see you off?' 

'It's better if you don't, Rich, I'm serious... what?' he asked, because Richie gaped at him, looking astonished. 

'Nothing, just... my best friend, Bill, always calls me Rich. You have never done it before. I would take Rich over Dick any day though' he said, but Eddie didn't smile. He started to get out of the bed, weirdly anxious, and kept tugging on the sleeve of his shirt in the same manner as the previous day. Richie thought this must be some kind of a twitch. 

'Let me at least walk down the stairs with you, I wanted to go do some shopping anyway' he muttered, standing up and joining the other man. They stepped out of his room together and Richie locked the door behind them swiftly. 

'Do you live far from here?' he asked, wanting to break the silence. Eddie shook his head absentmindedly.

'No, less than three miles. I usually walk through the forest to get to the beach, but there is also another way, a bit more weary. Maybe I'll show you some day.' 

Richie nodded, and they descended to the kitchenette quietly. He was surprised to see Linda there, in her yellow sundress, singing along with an old radio. Judging by the smell, she was brewing coffee.

'Good morning boys! I haven't seen you in a while Eddie, you should come over more often,' she greeted, an Richie noticed that she didn't even frown when she looked at Eddie's face, like she was expecting him to be bruised. 'Do you want some coffee?' 

Eddie smiled tightly and explained that he absolutely had to go, but Richie gladly took an offer. He saw that his friend was already limping towards the exit, so he called out:

'Hey Eds! See you soon, right?' 

He got no answer and furrowed his eyebrows, worry evident in his expression. Linda laid her hand on his shoulder and handed him a cup of hot coffee, smiling gently.

'You befriended Eddie I see. I have to admit I am impressed, he doesn't trust people easily.' 

'I wouldn't say he trusts me' Richie said, shaking his head. 'Does he live with his parents? He didn't tell me.' 

'His father left Nice when he was four and his mother, Sonia, died a few years ago because of a stroke. Eddie was pretty lost for a while after that, she used to be very overprotective, but then he met Michael. They've been together for about two years now, but... I don't think it's a healthy relationship. You probably noticed too.' 

'Oh fuck' Richie breathed, all of the pieces suddenly fitting together. The ugly bruise and scars, long sleeves, his reaction to that phone call, everything. 'Thank you so much. You honestly make me wish I had a grandma.' 

Linda laughed, finishing her own coffee in one blow.

'No problem, I hope you manage to get to him, it's awful that every time he comes here I see fresh bruises on his face. And I would rather not even think what is going on under that black shirt of his' she added, grimacing. Richie nodded, his mind racing. What if Eddie won't be on the beach tomorrow? What if his boyfriend goes too far and like, breaks his leg for example? He was limping already, fucking hell. 

'Thank you' he repeated. 'And I will stay until next Wednesday. At least.' 

'Stay as long as you want, I like you more with each day' Linda confessed, making Richie smile timidly. He set his mug on the table and gestured towards the door.

'I need to go and do some shopping, but thanks for the coffee, it was delicious' he said, turning to leave. Just before he walked out, he heard an angry:

'Stop thanking me, for god's sake! It doesn't suit you!' 

and broke into laughter. Yes, he was definitely staying for as long as he had money to afford it.

***

The closest shop was a whole thirty minutes away, and by the time Richie's bought anything to eat and came back to the guesthouse, it was noon. He kept thinking about Eddie and his horrified expression when this Michael called; nobody in a normal relationship gets scared when their partner wants them to come home, he must be a complete tripper.  
When he settled back in his room again, he picked up his notepad from the pillow and opened it at a blank page.

He found his pencil under the bed and sucked at the end of it for a minute, wondering how to start. For the first time in months he actually felt like writing something, and he suspected it might have had a lot to do with meeting Eddie. Whenever he looked at him, he saw so much strenght and fragility at once, the hesitation in his dark eyes, blood on his split lip that couldn't heal because he kept biting it...  
Richie never thought he would be inspired by a person, someone he personally knew. While working on his only book, he usually found afflation in music, lonely walks and, since it was a thriller with some murder plot, from documentaries about serial killers. 

After all, he began writing a rough version of a poem. It was surprising even for himself, he hasn't written poetry since he studied at the university, where he sometimes had to do it for literature classes. His professor used to tell him he had a great taste in words, but he didn't make the right use of it. The dude obviously just hated thriller and Richie wasn't bothered by his opinion. 

When he finished, he reread his work three times and tried to think critically. The rhymes weren't perfect, the run was messed up in some places, but in general it was pretty decent. Richie wrote a date above it, an old helpful habit, and closed the notepad. Maybe he could show the poem to Eddie when they meet the next day. He had a feeling that he would enjoy it.

***

The next day Eddie wasn't on the beach. Richie wasn't sure why he expected him to be there, he just naturally assumed he would, like the short man was part of scenery.  
He felt disappointed to say the least, standing alone by the sea and clutching his notepad with a frown. He knew Eddie was probably busy and couldn't come, but there was a fraction of his mind that kept prompting: 'What if he got so beaten up he can't walk?' 

He went back to the hotel and began working on another poem, this time something about getting away and searching for happiness. 

The rest of the day slipped by, he mainly talked to Bill on the phone and browsed through some writers' blogs. He went to sleep earlier than usually, awfully bored and worried. 

On Friday Eddie was nowhere to be seen either. Richie started to consider asking Linda where he lived, just to go and check if he was fine, but there was also a possibility that he could be greeted by this madman Michael if he did.  
He made a deal with himself - if Eddie wouldn't come to the beach until Saturday evening, he would find out where his house was and pay a visit. 

That day Richie didn't return to the guesthouse right away. Instead, he walked around for a bit, looking for anything fun to do. He wasn't really surprised when he discovered there were absolutely no tourist attractions, after all even a simple grocery shop was thirty minutes away. He also wanted to swim in the sea, because the water was weirdly warm that day, but he realised he didn't take any swimmers with him. He had no other choice than to come back to his room, growing annoyed. On his way up the stairs he saw Linda, sitting at the top step and flicking through a magazine.

'Hello dear,' she smiled at him, patting the free space next to her. Richie sat down, grateful for a person that he could finally talk to. 'Were you on the beach?'

'Yes, I was hoping I'd maybe meet Eddie there, but I haven't seen him for two days. I'm honestly getting worried, what if... you know. What if he is so hurt he can't walk?' 

'His boyfriend has never crossed the line that severely before' Linda shook her head in wonder.  
They sat in silence for a while, both reflecting on what might have happened to their friend and assuming the worst. Richie spoke up first:

'Would you tell me where his house is if he doesn't come over tomorrow? I bet you know it, right?' 

She nodded quickly, and Richie breathed a sigh of relief; there was somebody on his side. Two people could definitely achieve more than one Parisian jester. 

'Thanks so much, you are incredible' he muttered, making Linda chuckle.

'I thought I told you to stop thanking me! I hate too much gratitude, Christ.' 

'Should I curse you or something instead?' he asked jokingly, standing up and searching for the key in his pocket. 'I think I'll go work on some stuff now, see you soon.' 

He passed her on the stairs, but just as he was about to enter his room she called out:

'Hey, I truly hope Eddie shows up tomorrow.' 

He turned around and half smiled at her, hoping it was enough of an answer; he did too.

***

Since he has arrived in Nice, Richie slept better than probably ever in his whole life. That night though, he couldn't get a wink of sleep, rolling over in the sheets and feeling restless. At about three in the morning he suddenly heard a knock on the door - at first he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, the sound so quiet he would have never caught it if he wasn't awake at that hour.  
The knocking came on again after a few seconds of silence, this time far more urgent, and Richie realised it wasn't only his imagination. He reached for his glasses and got out of bed, walking straight to the door. He would never admit it, but he was also trying to make as little noise as possible. After all, how could he tell who was waiting on the other side? He knew he was the sole guest here.

He turned on the dim passage light and opened the door rapidly, hoping that it wasn't a murderer; he's watched enough documentaries about that sort of stuff.  
When he looked at the person standing on the doorstep he felt a mix of relief and terror. It was Eddie, but Richie has not once seen him in such a bad condition.  
The man's left eye was swollen and bruised to the point he could barely keep it open, there was also a wide cut on his temple bleeding and leaving stains on his green dirty shirt. He was shaking violently, from fear or shock, or both, Richie couldn't really state. 

'Fuck, Eds' he breathed, pulling him inside the room and locking the door. 'What happened?' 

Eddie shook his head, looking at him with wide dark eyes. He reached up to wipe the blood off his cheek, but ended up smearing it around his face even more. 

'Can I tell you in the morning? I need a shower' he whispered, exhaling shakily. Richie felt his heart clench almost painfully with sympathy and concern.

'Of course, there are some clean towels under the washbasin. Do you... I mean, if you want to stay here I could sleep on the floor. You take the bed, fine?' 

Eddie tried to protest weakly for a while, but then gave up and disappeared into the bathroom. Soon, Richie could hear the water running and something that sounded like choked sobs, but he chose to ignore it.  
He took one of the pillows and a thin blanket from the bed and placed them on the ground next to it. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to fall asleep anyway, but better have that than uncarpeted cold floor. He decided to leave the passage light on, just in case Eddie didn't feel comfortable in complete darkness, and lied down.  
After about twenty minutes the bathroom door opened and clicked shut again. Richie couldn't resist turning around and glancing at Eddie - he still looked ghostly pale and frightened, but the cut on his temple stopped bleeding and he's washed his tangled hair. He took his socks off and carefully curled up on top of the bed cover, wrapping his thin arms around himself in a protective manner. 

'Goodnight Eddie' Richie muttered, wishing he could somehow make him feel better. 'You are safe here, yeah?'

He never got an aswer, but he saw Eddie relax a bit against the mattress. That was enough for him. 

***

Richie woke up first, his back throbbing with dull pain. He forgot to take his glasses off last night, and now they were slightly lopsided, digging into the bridge of his nose and most definitely leaving a mark. He sat up and looked over to where Eddie was sleeping, in the exact same position the whole time. His breathing was calm, but there was a frown on his bruised face, like he was having a nightmare. 

'Hey, Eds' Richie whispered, touching his hand gently. Eddie's eyes opened immediately, and he stared at him for a few seconds, noticeably afraid. 'Hey, it's me.' 

'Fuck, sorry, I thought...' Eddie rasped out and paused, not sure how to finish.

'It's fine, but I would really like you to explain what happened last night. Your boyfriend did it, didn't he?' 

The other man's expression turned shocked for a moment, but then he sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. 

'I knew that you would talk to Linda about it sooner or later,' he said quietly. 'And yes, he did, but you have to understand... Michael isn't always like that. He really cares about me and he's a great person in general, really.'

'What the hell?' Richie raised his eyebrows. 'You literally came here bleeding all over yourself, beaten up and in shock and you are trying to tell me he is a great person? I can't even believe it' he laughed humourlessly, shaking his head. 

'You don't know him at all!' 

'No, but I see the fucking damage he causes every day!' 

Eddie glared at him with mouth slightly open, angry blush appearing on his hollow cheeks. He looked absolutely stunning, and Richie couldn't gather his thoughts for a while. 

'Look' he began, but Eddie was already out of bed and struggling to put on his shoes. 'Eds, wait, don't be ridiculous...'

'Do not fucking call me Eds and do not fucking try to save me! I was doing alright all this time without you!' Eddie screamed, literally trembling with rage. 'Stay out of this, Trashmouth. Thanks for letting me crash' he spit out before leaving the room and slamming the door behind him. 

Richie fell back onto the floor, his breathing fast and fracted. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing it was all just a dream, but the creased sheets on his bed told him otherwise. He could still see the dirty tracks Eddie has made with his shoes on the rug. 

***

When Bill called a few hours later, Richie wasn't sure if he was ready to talk to him. He didn't pick up the first time, but the second call came right away, so he rolled his eyes and answered it.

'Hi Billy' he sighed, going out onto the balcony, hoping some fresh air could help clear his mind. 'What's up?' 

'W-w-what's up with m-me? I should a-ask you the  
s-s-same, you haven't given any s-sing for two d-days.' 

'Sorry mom' he muttered, climbling on the balustrade, now his favourite place to sit and write, or simply breathe the smell of the sea and salt. 'I was kind of busy... I have written a couple of poems, you can be proud.' 

'I a-am, Rich, but I know you t-t-too well. You h-have done something, d-didn't you?' 

'Damn, fine, you are right. Remember when I told you about that guy, Eddie, and you said I shouldn't get involved?' 

'S-so you o-obviously did?' Bill asked, voice part dissaproving and part fond. 

'I guess we could submit it like that' Richie shrugged, tapping his knee with his long fingers. 'I found out that he has a boyfriend who regularly beats him up, fuck Bill, he came to my room so bruised he could barely talk last night... How can I not get involved? I want to help him.' 

'D-do you like him?' 

'More than I've ever liked anyone' he whispered, suddenly realising that he truly meant it; somewhere between watching over Eddie and waiting for him to appear on the beach, Richie started to feel real affection towards him. 

'Then g-go and t-t-talk to him idiot!' Bill stuttered with annoyance. 'I don't k-know if you h-have managed to f-f-fuck up already, but g-go and talk to h-him.' 

'Okay, I will, chill Bill... whoa, I am basically a rapper... ' 

'Rich, I s-s-swear...' 

'I will! Trust me, I want him to realise how unhealthy this whole thing is. Cross your fingers.' 

They exchanged farewells and Richie ran a hand through his messy hair. He decided he would walk to the beach the next day and try to find Eddie. Time to fix everything once and for all. 

***

Sunday morning was surprisingly cold, it was also raining a little bit, but that wasn't going to stop Richie from sticking to his plan. He took the only jumper that he's packed for his trip out of the suitcase, a thick, white, knitted one, and tried to remember if he had an umbrella anywhere. He obviously didn't, so he just made a face and left the room, locking the door with slightly shaking hands.  
He didn't know why he suddenly felt so nervous; or he knew all too well, but couldn't admit it to himself. The walk through the forest seemed to stretch out forever, no matter how much he sped his pace up, but when he finally reached the shore he wasn't let down - there was a familiar thin figure standing on a pier.

Eddie turned around when he heard someone making his way over to him, deep down already knowing that it could only be one person. They stared at each other silently for a moment, before Richie swallowed loudly and muttered:

'I came to apologize.' 

The shorter man furrowed his eyebrows and stepped closer to him. He sat down on the wet wooden decks, gesturing towards the free space next to him, so Richie sat down as well. He noticed Eddie was dressed in a black oversized hoodie, with sleeves so long they covered his entire hands.  
It could've been Michael's, his mind prompted, but he quickly shook that thought off. 

'I realise that I got too dedicated when it comes to your personal problems Eds, I'm sorry. But first, could you please listen to me for a while? I have something I wanted to tell you, but I am not sure if it will make sense. I am still kind of upset about it' he said, words rushed and uncertain.

'Sure, take your time Trashmouth. I'm sorry too' Eddie admitted with a twist of his mouth. Richie nodded, signaling that he accepted the apology. Now that they were even, he was ready to share his story.

'Okay, I will get straight to the point - my father was an abusive alcoholic, so I know how walking around covered in cuts and bruises feels. He wasn't always like that, he started drinking shortly after my mother died, which happened when I was about ten years old' he hesitated, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to focus. 'She passed away because of breast cancer and I don't remember her too well, but I know she had a beautiful laugh and made the most amazing apple pie. Anyway, my father was completely devastated, but he didn't want any help from our family. He locked himself in his bedroom for a few hours every day and drank whatever was in the house, mostly whisky. I tried to simply stay out of his way at first... it obviously didn't work for long.' 

'Richie...' 

'Wait, I'm not finished yet. One day, when I ran out of money to buy food, I stole his wallet and hoped he wouldn't notice. He did, he was awfully drunk that night, so he picked up one of the empty whisky bottles and smashed it on my shoulder. I will never forget his face, fuck, I was almost sure he wanted to kill me at that moment. Someone from our neighbourhood called the police because they heard me scream, but my father stayed under arrest for like two days and got released. They never even talked to me' he laughed bitterly, adjusting his glasses. 'He came back home and it all continued, there were days when I couldn't get out of bed, or had to cover up the bruises on my face when I went to school. Bill was my only friend back then, his parents weren't that great too, so when we were both seventeen we packed some stuff and travelled to Paris, as far from home as we could. My father always hated the things I wrote... That's one of the reasons I came here... I want to show him I am worth something.' 

'Richie' Eddie repeated softly, and Richie realised that he started crying and didn't even notice. He quickly took his glasses off and tried to wipe the tears flowing down his cheeks, trembling uncontrollably. 'Breathe, please.' 

Eddie looked like he was about to burst into tears himself when he put his arms around him, clutching the material of his jumper and stroking his hair tentatively with one hand. It must have been difficult for him too, touching another person to provide comfort, when all he knew was violence.  
They sat there, holding each other, for a long time. Richie managed to calm down enough to stop crying, but his breathing was still shallow and uneven.

'I've only ever told Bill about this' he choked out. 'I wanted you to know I've experienced similar things, okay?' 

Eddie nodded frantically against his neck before pulling back slightly. He rolled up the sleeve of his hoodie, revealing the pale skin of his forearm covered in scars and fresh finger-shaped bruises. 

'That's how most of my body looks like' he whispered, letting Richie trace the marks with his fingertips. 

'As I've said, mine isn't much different. My shoulder had to be all stitched up back then, there is barely any normal skin on it.' 

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, both feeling like they've just shared their biggest secret with one another. Richie couldn't bring himself to look away and that was when a wild idea appeared in his head.

'Move to Paris with me' he blurted before he could think about it any further, and Eddie's eyes widened. 'You could never see your boyfriend again, change your number... you could start all over again. I have this small apartament and if you don't want to live with me, Bill definitely has an extra bedroom that you could use. Just imagine it.' 

He's already imagined it himself, so vivid he had to blink a couple times to get the image out of his head; Eddie looking around his place, reading his notes and poems and criticizing them, Eddie meeting Bill, going out to his favourite café with him... No more bruises. No more fear. 

'There is nothing I want more than to get out of here, but I seriously can't' Eddie whispered, tugging the sleeve of his hoodie back down. He turned to watch the waves before explaining: 'I have almost no money, how would I afford the travel? And if Michael found out he would kill me.' 

'In case you didn't notice I can barely aford food too' Richie insisted. 'Money won't be a problem, trust me, and you could find a job once everything is sorted out.' 

Eddie shook his head, turning back to him. His cheeks were flushed from the wind and confusion. 

'I can't.' 

He leaned in unexpectedly, framing Richie's face with his cold hands. He hesitated for a few seconds before closing the space between them, lips chapped and gentle, moving against the other man's self-conciously.  
Richie forgot how to breathe properly as he put his hand on the nape of Eddie's neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. It was painully tender, and when they finally pulled back after a while, they both felt exposed. 

'I can't' Eddie repeated against his lips, his breath coming in short pants. He stroked Richie's cheek before dropping his hands and standing up, leaving him speechless. He was halfway to the forest when Richie managed to get his voice back. 

'I am here until Wednesday!' he shouted after Eddie, making him slow down. 'Think about it!' 

The sound of crashing waves drowned out the response, but Richie hoped it was an 'okay' with his whole heart.

***

It wasn't an okay, Richie learned when Eddie didn't appear on the beach the next two days, the realisation like a blow to the head. Linda didn't even try to talk to him for too long when she noticed how bad he looked on Tuesday evening, simply handed him an especially strong coffee and patted his forearm comfortingly. She was kind enough not to remind him about the charge of his stay that he had to cover before leaving the next day. 

When he went to his room to pack, he felt like something was inevitably coming to an end - he has never cared for someone that much in his life, but now that he did, he just couldn't save that person, no matter how hard he tried.  
Richard Tozier used to think his heart couldn't be broken. He has already been through so much after all, his mother's early death, his father's alcoholism and hatred towards him... but none of that made his chest hurt like the memory of Eddie's delicate hands on his face and his quivering mouth on his. 

That night he slept like a log, deep and dreamless. Morning came far quicker than he would like it to, sun shining brightly, like that one rainy Sunday never happened. He got dressed, throwing the rest of his clothes into the suitcase, and left the room. He wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. 

Linda was waiting for him in the kitchenette. She smiled at him as he entered, but there was a sad edge to it. 

'Hello dear, ready to return the key? Maybe you want some scrambled eggs before you go?' 

Richie shrugged and sat down at the table opposite her.

'Sure, my train leaves in two hours so I still have a lot of time. Look, I know how much you hate it, but I really want to thank you' he said, gesturing for her to wait until he's finished. 'You made me feel like this place was my second home, I didn't expect all that hospitality when I arrived here. So again, thank you for everything Linda.' 

'I guess I should thank you too, it's usually pretty lonely here, so at least I had someone other than my husband to talk to' she admitted, reaching out to cover his hand with her rough, wrinkled one for a short moment. 'I am going to miss you, dear.' 

'Me too' he muttered, feeling his eyes sting a little. 

She stood up to turn off the stove and put eggs on the plates, pretending she didn't pick up on his tearfulness.  
They both flinched at the sound of the front door slamming suddenly. 

'Are you expecting a new guest?' Richie asked, surprised. 

'No... and I honestly think he didn't come here for me' she answered, smiling widely. Richie turned around and his mouth almost fell open. 

Eddie was standing at the kitchenette entrance, flushed and breathless, like he had been running all the way there. There was a big, red backpack on his shoulders, and Richie's heart immediately sped up. 

'I thought you have already left' Eddie panted, just as Richie jumped up and walked over to him, studying him with wide eyes, like he couldn't believe he came here. They looked at each other, the air around them charged, before Richie pulled him into a fierce hug. His hands were shaking when he placed them on Eddie's back, slowly stroking along his spine. 

'I thought you didn't want to see me anymore' he whispered, muffled by the shorter man's hair. He didn't care if Linda was watching them - he wouldn't care even if it was Michael watching them at that moment. 

'You are so stupid, Trashmouth' Eddie laughed. 'I wanted to talk to you, but Michael was home this two days and didn't let me go out. Today he has gone to work for a few hours, so I packed the most necessary things and came here. I want to move to Paris with you very, very much Rich... If you still want to take me of course.' 

Richie pulled back, just enough to see his face, and pressed a soft kiss to his reddened cheek. He nodded abruptly.

'Of course I do Eds.' 

Linda coughed suggestively in the background, and they both turned towards her, slightly embarassed. 

'I am truly happy for you, but breakfast is getting cold. Eddie, will you eat with us?' 

Eddie chimed in and Richie took his hand, leading him to the table. They didn't let go of each other's hand the whole morning. 

*** 

Paris, supposedly the city of love, inspiration, a true blessing for artists of all kind. Richie would have never agreed with this statement about two weeks earlier, but now, as he watched Eddie walking the alleys with a shy smile on his face, he could admit that it was true.  
Especially the love part.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone,  
> if you have spend your time reading this, thank you! I appreciate every single sign that you liked my work, whether it's a kudos or a comment (but I won't lie, comments are especially great).  
> This is my first Reddie fanfiction, but I am totally crazy about that ship, they are basically my favourites. I know we are all excited for the movie, but before if comes out READ THE BOOK FRIENDS, seriously, it's so worth it. Anyway, that work took me quite a while, but in the end it turned out pretty much like I wanted it to be. I truly hope you like it!  
> The title is from Lana Del Rey's song 'Lucky Ones'.
> 
> I guess I should dedicate it to Stephen King himself, since he is my biggest writing inspiration. He will obviously never read it, but Stephen, this one's for you! ;)
> 
> Lastly, check out my tumblr @thechemicalgirl, I don't really post Reddie but am always there to talk about it,
> 
> Alexa.


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